Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, Let Your Heart Be Light
by awomanontheverge
Summary: The glee in Regina's features increases tenfold at Henry's request. And then Emma understands. It isn't about the tree or the presents or the mess. It's about not being alone on Christmas.


It's not extravagant or beautiful or even remotely _pretty_, and she expected Regina to chastise her for finding the smallest, most pathetic tree in all of Storybrooke, but it's all she could get on Christmas Eve with such short notice. But Regina isn't angry, not even slightly perturbed. Instead, she thanks Emma for braving the oncoming snowstorm and tells them to set the tree in the corner while she grabs a handful of decorations from the storage closet.

They take turns placing the shimmering red bulbs on the branches, and by ornament six or seven, the tree is already wilting. Henry looks incredibly distraught, wanting the weakling of a Christmas tree to meet his adopted mother's expectation, but when Regina comes up behind him and rests a hand on his back soothingly, he visibly relaxes. "Does it look good, Mom?" he asks innocently, craning his neck up to look at Regina.

Emma holds her breath.

"It looks wonderful, dear," Regina compliments, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. "How about we put some of the gifts under the tree?" She raises her brow and waits for his response.

Henry nods vigorously and bolts off to the back room where the presents he's _allowed_ to know about sit. Regina laughs, shaking her head, and follows her son. Emma sits on the edge of the sofa and waits.

Moments later, mother and son return with a tower of presents, and Emma gasps. Together, the three of them position the presents awkwardly around the base of the tree, at least what they can fit; the rest are stacked against the nearby entertainment center. It's an absolute mess, one that Emma knows usually makes Regina squirm, but for some reason the brunette seems completely calm and collected.

When they're finished with the presents, Regina relaxes into the black leather sofa with a cup of hot tea. She's grinning from ear to ear as Henry bounces around the room with his new motorized plane, the one gift Regina permitted him to open. Her gaze flicks from her son – bright eyed as he zooms around the room with the remote control – to Emma, who sits down next t her on the sofa and flashes her own small smile.

Emma watches the uncharacteristic cheer on Regina's face with almost awe. She looks years younger, the light of the fireplace illuminating her face with a soft orange glow. The steaming warmth of the tea wisps into her face and gives her cheeks a pink, almost blushing hue. Despite everything she's endured during the previous year, on this unusual Christmas Eve, Emma thinks Regina Mills looks absolutely stunning.

She reaches out and wraps her arm around Regina's shoulder. Any other day, the former Queen would have recoiled as though burned. Tonight, however, she relaxes into Emma's touch and Emma swears she hears Regina sigh contentedly. She's absolutely shocked when the brunette reaches out and rests a warm hand on her jean clad thigh, stroking through the material with the pad of her thumb.

"I'm sorry about all this," Emma finally says, gesturing toward the pathetic excuse of a tree and the messy array of gifts.

Regina shakes her head before dipping it slightly to take a sip from her mug.

Emma isn't quite sure if Regina's disagreeing with what she's said or shaking her head at the concept of the whole thing. That is, until Henry bounces up to Regina and thrusts the controller in her lap, begging her to give it a try. The glee in Regina's features increases tenfold at Henry's request.

And then Emma understands. It isn't about the tree or the presents or the mess. It's about not being alone on Christmas.

It's probably only temporary, and in the morning everything will go back to the tension filled relationship between mother and son, Savior and Evil Queen. But tonight, Emma's brought Regina her own kind of Christmas miracle.

Her happy ending.


End file.
